


Your ex-lover is dead

by lookatmelaugh



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Absolutely consensual, Dancing, Just think of Q dancing, Lapdance, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Pre-Skyfall, Prostitution, Snark, Strippers & Strip Clubs, post-Silva, pre-MI6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookatmelaugh/pseuds/lookatmelaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James is privy to Q’s sultry pre-MI6 history.<br/>=</p>
<p>James remembers that face. That hair. Those lips that were made to be a man’s downfall. He knows this cheeky little boffin claiming to be his new quartermaster—he had last seen him with his legs spread in a third-rate hotel room, his mouth open in unabashed pleasure and his hair mussed with the evidence of several filthy deeds. A decade had passed since their last tryst, but damn it, the kid had been one memorable fuck.</p>
<p>Okay, fucks, plural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bloody hell. James remembers that face. That hair. Those lips that were made to be a man’s downfall. He _knows_ this cheeky little boffin claiming to be his new quartermaster—he had last seen him with his legs spread in a third-rate hotel room, his mouth open in unabashed pleasure and his hair mussed with the evidence of several filthy deeds. A decade had passed since their last tryst, but damn it, the kid had been one memorable fuck.

Okay, _fucks_ , plural.

He hadn’t been wearing glasses before, but that face and that voice was unmistakable. He had first seen the kid in a high-end Soho strip club that catered to posh clients of both sexes. James had just finished watching a busty blonde wrap herself around a pole when the boy sauntered onstage, conspicuously dressed in a university hoodie and sinfully tight black leather pants. For a moment he looked extremely out of place in the stage’s harsh lights. He gave his audience a look that bordered on dangerously innocent before his music came on and a positively lascivious smile split his face, and then, holy hell, the kid began to dance.

He fairly slithered out of the maroon hoodie while swinging his hips in wide arcs of lust. His lightly-muscled torso was nothing special in its own right, but the way the boy tweaked his nipples to attention was something else entirely. He never stopped moving his hips while his hands explored his body the way a possessive lover might. A definite bulge had formed in front of his pants, but he made no move to open his flies. The dry-mouthed audience watched as he gracefully sat on the middle of the stage with his legs spread. He allowed his right hand to ghost over the bulge while he sucked his left middle finger into his mouth then licked a broad stripe over his palm, an obscene but effective imitation of acts only suited in the bedroom.

The sight of that pert arse framed in those pants from hell made James pause with his glass of scotch raised halfway to his lips, a phenomenon that had not happened since he was a green sailor on his very first shore leave. A fair number of audience members were already raising wads of bills to catch the kid’s attention, and James watched as the boy went to each of them with meticulous grace.

He first went to a middle-aged matron and gave her the lapdance of her life. The woman worked his flies open and stuck three purple twenty-pound notes into the waistband of his underwear. Then came a group of young women, who laughed and giggled gleefully as he rutted against one of their friends while she stuffed more bills into his briefs. Then he danced over to a couple of thirty-something men and allowed them to manhandle his ass, gathering their money all the while.

James watched and watched, but he never waved the kid over to his table. These frantic moments of dance and crumpled bills were not for him; he wanted to meet the kid exclusively, and he resolved to have the boy fucked in a private suite before the night was over.     

~

He found the boy gulping a glass of water by the bar less than half an hour later. He was half naked and his chest was still heaving from his on-stage exertions. James stalked over to him and put on his most charming smile. “You dance beautifully,” he said, and the boy’s head whipped in his direction in surprise.

The boy smiled immediately, but James didn’t miss the way his hazel eyes gave him a discreet once-over. “I’m glad you liked it,” he replied, and James was caught off-guard by his surprisingly posh accent. “I can assure you that there’s more where that came from.”

James couldn’t help a predatory grin from crossing his face. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, already motioning the bartender over.

The boy’s eyebrows twitched. “If you’ll tell me your name, yes,” he answered, giving him a cheeky grin in return.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_. “Richard,” he said, extending a hand.

“I’m Charles,” the boy replied, giving James an impressively firm handshake. Then he proceeded to order the most expensive cocktail the bar could offer. His audacity was remarkable, and James could already tell that his was going to be an interesting night.

~

Charles proved to be a singularly exceptional conversationalist. He didn’t reveal much about himself except that he loved dancing and he was stripping to finance his university education, which was so ridiculously expensive that only filthy rich mutual fund babies could afford it, thank you very much.

James wondered if the college kid story was an act—he had to admit that the fact that the kid was taking his clothes off to keep himself in school had a certain kind of illicit allure. He probably used the penniless university student package to make his clients shell out more. James certainly wouldn’t mind giving Charles a bit of book allowance if only he would stop talking and start sucking already.

Their easy conversation was cut short when a drunken yuppie made his way over to them and deliberately bumped into Charles. James’ hand immediately went to his hidden shoulder holster, but his plans for the evening seemed safe judging by the scowl Charles was giving the drunk. “Hey, pretty,” the yuppie crooned, clumsily laying a hand on Charles’ waist. “How much will fifty get me, hmm?”

Charles deliberately removed the drunk’s hand from his waist and glared. “Fifty won’t even get you a moan,” he said impassively. James felt a jolt of pure arousal at the kid’s uncompromising snarkiness. He then turned to James with eyebrows raised. “Shall we move this elsewhere, Richard?” he asked.

James smiled. “I’ll be glad to,” he said, holding out a hand to Charles. The boy threw another dirty glare at the shocked yuppie before allowing himself to be led away.

~

Charles kissed in the same way he danced—filthy and sensual and all-consuming, all tongue and hungry lips and desperately obscene noises. He was seated on an overstuffed couch in one of the club’s private suites, while Charles sat panting on his lap and clung to James like a drowning man.

James had gladly parted with three hundred quid before they had even entered the room, and Charles had specified that fucking was against the club’s rules. He’d claimed that the three hundred quid would get James anything from his own private dance to a blowjob, but _fucking was really not allowed_. He sounded apologetic about it, but James couldn’t find the strength to complain, not with the way the boy was grinding against him as though his life depended on it.

He grabbed Charles by his ridiculous hair and pulled him away for a moment. “Take those bloody pants off,” he growled, watching as he fumbled to obey. James decided to make the boy’s life more difficult by focusing his tongue and attention on his nipples. He licked and bit and pinched while Charles shuddered and made the most gratifying sounds. He eventually managed to rid himself of his sinful pants, and James cupped the inviting outline of Charles’ cock against his black briefs while the boy bucked against him.

Charles reached for a box of condoms discreetly hidden away beside the couch. He held one up to James and nuzzled his neck. “May I suck you, Richard?” he asked, his voice desperate against James’ skin. James was thrilled by the fact that he could see no sign of cheekiness in this over-sensitized piece of flesh, and so he nodded and watched as Charles fell to his knees between his thighs.

 Charles made quick work of his belt and pants. He carefully eased James out of his briefs then spent a moment just looking at James’ cock. Then he ripped the condom open with his teeth and rolled it expertly down James’ length, and then he smiled and pressed an almost reverent kiss against the tip before swallowing him down with practiced ease.

God, this was one incredible hooker. James gripped his hair for leverage while Charles made obscene noises around his dick. Charles didn’t allow his hands to stay idle while his mouth worked; his long fingers traced lazy patterns over James’ thighs, stomach, and balls. Charles completely pulled away for a moment before swallowing him down again, and he kept his gaze trained on James’ face while James was consumed by a powerful orgasm.

Charles gently pulled away once James was done. He removed the condom and gave James a surprising smile, as though he had actually enjoyed their encounter. James pulled him up to rest on his lap again and gave him another long kiss. “Jack off,” he ordered,  and Charles’ eyes widened before he pulled his  briefs off and hastily rolled a condom over his cock.

James watched as Charles pleasured himself with short, desperate strokes. He didn’t look like he was going to last long, and soon Charles was shaking in his grasp as release overtook him. He moaned straight into James’ neck, his hips buckling helplessly with pleasure.

 =

On that first night he had given the kid a generous tip. Charles—James now sincerely doubted whether that was his real name—had thanked him beautifully and welcomed him to come again. The innuendo was not lost on James, and come he did—he had fucked the boy several times over the course of twelve months, but soon enough Charles had just vanished. The club’s manager claimed that their star dancer Charles had left the scene for good, and James refused to allow himself to sink so low by attempting to find his interesting stripper.

But now here he was, in the flesh. In MI-fucking-6. How did his brazen dancer become this stoic and soft-spoken quartermaster? And how the hell was he supposed to look at Q without allowing his actions to be ruled by his dick?

It was a brave new world indeed. James decided to wait and see. After all, he was very good at waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

James found it extremely hard to associate this Q with the boy he had once known. There were very little traces of his pathologically seductive Charles in Q, who was impassive and coldly efficient even while MI6’s security was crumbling about his ears at the height of the Silva mission. It was as though Q had gobbled Charles up and left only the wild hair and blatantly informal clothing behind. Q was a mystery, and James could never resist mysteries.

James soon learned that most Double Os had developed an intense love-hate relationship with the new quartermaster. They trusted him with their lives in the field, but they absolutely hated his guts to reprimand them for missing equipment when they got back from missions.  Q’s relentless quest to make agents take better care of his gear was a big change from the former quartermaster’s approach, whose half-hearted lectures made him easy to distract and mollify.

Q was just too cocky and self-assured and intelligent for his own good. What riled James most, though, was Q’s utterly impenetrable façade. Q gave absolutely no indication that he’d known James before MI6, and his casual disregard rubbed at James’ ego. Was it possible that Q had forgotten him? Nobody ever forgot a night with James Bond, much less an entire year of fiery encounters. Perhaps Q was ashamed of his past; that would be a likelier explanation, as no high-ranking government official would want to be associated with the sex clubs of Soho.  James sometimes doubted whether he was mistaken and Q was actually _not_ Charles, but he knew he wasn’t wrong.

He couldn’t be wrong.

~

The Silva episode was a complete debacle, and James found himself with the absolutely terrible fortune of being stuck in Britain when Mallory called for a comprehensive security briefing for all senior personnel who had been involved in the mission. James would much prefer to be shooting at someone in the hot desert sun instead of being forced to endure the company of a bunch of executives in MI-6’s Spartan conference room, but he had no choice.     

The one bright spot, though, was Q. Q was seated close to Mallory at the head of the conference table, while James had deliberately chosen a seat at the other edge of room. That meant James had a very clear view of his quartermaster, who had been extremely unflustered even during Mallory’s merciless grilling over Silva’s security breach. Q had redeemed himself beautifully, and he was now busy drowning them all in data. Q-branch had apparently been building a new security system from scratch even prior to Silva’s attack; it was now almost ready to launch and would “survive NATO’s bombs” once online. Q claimed that the breach was because of the current system’s weakness in the first place; with his new technology, he swore that MI6 would be impenetrable.

James couldn’t help but smile at Q’s composure. Q had downed six mugs of tea over the course of two hours, and he seemed on track to drink more. Q lapsed into silence once his report was over, and James took the opportunity to just observe. Q seemed as outwardly calm as ever, but James noticed the way his fingers would occasionally twitch over his keyboard. He looked like he would prefer to be in Q branch, coding to his heart’s content, instead of playing the executives’ mundane game. 

Well, James could definitely agree with that sentiment. Then, unexpectedly, Q subtly turned to him and met his gaze, catching James off-guard. He was unable to hide the fact that he had been staring, but something in Q’s impassive eyes told James that the attention was not unwelcome. He gave Q a small, brazen smile, wanting to test his reaction to such an overt display of interest.

Q just smirked.

~

James inwardly cursed when the lift descended to the basement instead of taking him straight to the first level, which had been designated as MI6’s official parking space. He was itching to get home to his scotch and really did not look forward to being trapped for a few seconds of small talk with another person. He schooled his expression to one of polite disinterest when the doors opened, revealing Q and Moneypenny.

“Why hello, 007,” Moneypenny said, stepping into the lift. Q followed in after her. “I thought you’d be out of the building the moment the assembly was over.”

“Tanner cornered me,” James answered. He noted their oversized bags and smirked. “Pity the employees who are compelled to take their work home,” he teased.

“This paperwork _is_ for the weekend,” Moneypenny replied, making a mournful face. “Fortunately, though, we’re quite free tonight.” She looked at Q with a grin, and Q smiled back.

James felt a stab of jealousy at the word _we_. The lift doors opened and they stepped into the cold parking area. There were only a few cars left at this hour. To James’ surprise, Moneypenny and Q went straight to the nondescript black Benz parked next to the Aston Martin. Q went to the passenger side, which brought him face-to-face with James, who was standing with his hand on the Aston Martin’s door.

“It seems the two of you have plans for tonight,” he said, covering his jealousy with a jibe. Q looked at him and smiled slowly.

“We’re going dancing, 007,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

Q was going bloody dancing. With Moneypenny. James huffed to hide his surprise. “Clubbing? Really? Isn’t that a bit below you two stars of the exec branch?” he asked.

“I like dancing,” Q said simply, echoing a phrase he’d told James on their very first night together. He threw James a knowing look. “Though I think you know that already, 007,” he added. It was the first time he’d ever even hinted at their past. Before James could reply, Q slipped into the car and slammed the door in his face.

Moneypenny smirked at James.  “Some young people deserve a life on a Friday night, 007,” she said, pausing with her hand on the driver’s door. “Enjoy your scotch,” she called, and disappeared into the Benz.

~

Moneypenny was grinning as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Seriously, Q?" she asked, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised."You're flirting with 007 now?"

Q smirked. "Who doesn’t flirt with 007?" he replied, glancing at Moneypenny from the corner of his eye.

Moneypenny  laughed. "Guilty as charged," she admitted with a wistful smile. "Beware about him, though. Rumor has it he fucks anything that moves."

"Rumor? Don't you already know for sure?" he teased.

“My job entails investigating rumors, Q. Of course I had to know for sure.”

“And your verdict is?”

“007’s reputation as a lothario is well and truly earned, Q,” she replied with a thoughtful frown. “He’s an excellent lover, but not one I’d sleep with twice. You already know that I only actually shagged him in Macau, don’t you? I was too busy being professional in Turkey.”

“You only shag men twice if you think they’re husband material,” Q accused. “Honestly, Eve, you’ve been old fashioned since we were kids. Fucking’s fun. You really should have more of it.”

“Sometimes the old ways are the best,” Moneypenny answered with a laugh. “I won’t bother with 007 again. Especially since it seems he’s caught your eye.” She turned to him and frowned. “You’re hiding something from me. I can always tell when you’re covering something up.”

“Keep your eyes on the bloody road, Eve,” Q hissed. Moneypenny was not exactly a smooth driver; Q hid a sigh of relief when she obeyed. “It’s nothing important,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll tell you sometime, I promise. It’s bloody fucking hilarious.”

“You better tell me soon, or else I’ll start sniffing around,” she threatened. “Does it involve 007?”

Q smiled. “Maybe, yes,” he answered.

“Christ, Q, you’re a real slut,” Moneypenny charged. Her tone was exasperated but good-natured, and Q just grinned mischievously at his childhood friend. “007’s dick is overused,” she teased, smiling wickedly.

“Fuck you very much,” Q replied, his middle finger eloquently raised. Eve burst out in laughter and stepped on the gas.

`~

James took a sip of his scotch and leaned his head against the edge of his luxurious bath. He spared no expense when it came to his bathroom; the dark marble tub was large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, and his sink was wide enough to put most high-end hotels to shame. It was a necessary indulgence, for there were days when only hours of soaking could help dull the brutal memories of the things he did for queen and country. The silent marble wall were witness to his rare moments of remorse, and only his occasional periods of introspection allowed him to feel the fragile humanity that still thrummed beneath his skin.

Tonight was a night of introspection, but it was not a night of guilt. Tonight was about Q. Tonight was about the primal desire that he worked hard to contain whenever he was around his young quartermaster. James very rarely indulged in the satisfaction of pleasuring himself—he found the act vaguely distasteful, to be honest, especially given the fact that he had no shortage if bed partners.

But tonight was an exception.

He thought about Q, out dancing with Moneypenny. He imagined his pale skin painted in stark primary colors by harsh strobe lights; he visualized how Q’s nondescript button-down shirt must have its top three buttons undone, baring his throat and chest to the world. He imagined Q’s hips swaying to the beat of sin; he pictured how his arms must be raised in joyful abandon, how his mouth must be open as he strived to catch his breath. And then the image of Q morphed into the memory of Charles, grinding desperately against his lap, begging achingly for release.

James trailed a hand down his chest as he remembered the very first time Charles had allowed him to tie his wrists behind his back. It had happened on their third time together, a couple of months after their first encounter. Charles’ trust had aroused James more than the dancing; it had taken all of his self-control to not push him against the club’s couch and fuck him to within an inch of his life. Charles had still maintained the club’s no-fucking rule back then, and the last thing James had wanted was to be thrown out of the club’s premises and denied entry forever. And so he had allowed Charles to trail hot kisses along his neck and chest while his hands were helplessly secured, and then he had slipped to his knees between James’ legs and mouthed at his cock through the fabric of his pants. James had twisted his hands in Charles’ hair and heard him groan at the touch.

Then Charles had undone his belt with his mouth and pulled his zipper down with his teeth. James gripped himself more tightly as he remembered the way Charles had rolled a condom on him without the aid of his hands. Then he had teased light kisses down James’ length, and then parted his lips and took James into his mouth. James’ hand sped up as he recalled the wet heat of Charles’ mouth; he remembered the blinding pleasure of his orgasm and the way Charles had given him a tender smile that was at terrible odds with the boy’s own unsatisfied erection.

That night he had not allowed Charles to make a show of jacking off. James had done it himself—he had leaned down and grasped Charles’ straining cock with his callused fingers, and then he had fondled his balls and watched in fascination as Charles bit back a moan and thrust into his hand. James had gripped his hair again and plundered his mouth while his hand moved over Charles’ cock, teasing his pleasure out in long, slow strokes. He had pulled back long enough to watch Charles shiver through his orgasm, and then he’d silenced his moans by covering his mouth with his own.

James stroked himself furiously, thinking of Charles and Q and the boy who had once been his but now wasn’t. He thought of Charles on a stage and Q in a club. He recalled the thrills of the past and the promises of the present. He wanted Q—his genius quartermaster, not the starving stripper—to be his.

 James came in silence, alone in his luxurious bath.


	3. Chapter 3

_Charles was already in the middle of his set when James walked in. His glorious ass was framed in a black jockstrap as he ground passionately against a curly-haired blonde woman who looked like she could easily  give art photographers a run for their money. The woman wrapped a slender hand in his hair and pushed him to his knees; he mouthed at her navel while her red fingernails drew light pink lines on his back and shoulders. Charles licked one last stripe on her abdomen before they parted and joined the audience._

_James watched as the jockstrap slowly became filled with rolled-up bills. Charles had never danced for him in public in the eight months that he had been frequenting the club; James was content to wait after his set and just ravish Charles in the privacy of the club’s lounge. But now Charles caught sight of him and approached without being beckoned over. He looked at James intently and carefully straddled his lap, bringing his hands up to rest on James’ chest._

_"Hello, mister," he said quietly, punctuating the greeting with an extremely effective roll of the hips. "I don't think I've seen you in a while."_

_James placed his hands on Charles’ waist and attempted to steady him. "No, you haven't, darling," he drawled. It had been over a month since he’d last visited, as he had been away on his first lengthy assignment as a full-fledged Double O. He trailed a hand down the line of Charles’ stomach and smiled when the younger man’s breathing gave a telltale hitch. "But I'm sure we could make up for lost time, hmm?"_

_Charles leaned close and licked at the shell of James' ear. "I look forward to that, Richard," he whispered, and James could feel his smile against his cheek. Then he slipped off his lap and sauntered back to the stage, where he flaunted his enviable ass to the audience one last time. He grinned and stretched out his arms, then grasped the blonde’s hand as they took a bow together. They blew kisses at the audience and slowly sashayed backstage, followed by resounding applause._

_Charles was at his table barely ten minutes later, dressed only in scandalously low-cut leather pants that openly showed the waistband of his jockstrap. “Hello, Richard,” he said, giving him a sunny smile. “And here I thought you had forgotten about me,” he teased, settling beside him._

_“I had business to take care of,” James answered smoothly, wrapping an arm around Charles’ shoulders. Charles settled into his touch, leaning easily into his chest. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not likely to forget that body of yours.”_

_Charles snatched his drink and sniffed at it cautiously before taking a sip. “That’s good to hear,” he said, making a face at the taste. James laughed. “Did you leave town, then? Went overseas?”_

_Though James thought it highly unlikely that the boy was anything but an innocent dancer, he also couldn’t control his instinctive suspicion at his line of questioning. “Why do you ask?” he murmured, allowing his other hand to crawl up Charles’ thigh to distract him._

_Charles smiled and spread his legs wider. “I can’t fucking stand flying,” he answered, shuddering. “But now you have reminded me about how much I hate flying. You’re at fault, mister,” he breathed, pausing when James’ hand ghosted over the half-hard bulge in his pants. “I really think you need to distract me from my unwelcome thoughts,” he said, gasping very slightly as James’ fingers grazed roughly at the outline of his cock._

_“I’d be happy to,” James answered, coaxing him to full hardness through the cloth. “But first I need you to tell me something, Charles,” he said, tightening his grip along the boy’s shaft. Charles’ eyes closed at the sensation. He leaned closer and put his lips beside Charles’ ear. “What will I need to get to fuck you?” he asked, breathing hotly along his cheek._

_Charles’ eyes flew open and he turned to James with surprising alertness. James carefully moved his hand from his crotch to the safer territory of his thigh, vaguely worried that he had ruined the moment for both of them. Charles looked at him for several long seconds, his face impassive, before he deliberately grasped James’ hand and brought it back to his cock. “There’s only one thing you need, Richard,” he said, never taking his eyes off James’ face. “My consent.”_

_“Ah,” James said, tracing idle lines on Charles’ clothed cock. “And how can I earn that, my lovely?”_

_Charles smiled. “You might get it if you ask nicely,” he murmured, turning so that his face was buried in the crook of James’ neck. “You’re already my favorite patron, as it is. I doubt I will need much coaxing.”_

_James tangled his other hand in Charles’ ridiculous hair. “That’s good to hear,” James said, echoing Charles’ earlier statement. “Can I coax you into giving it tonight, perhaps?”_

_Charles mouthed at his neck. “Soon, Richard. But I have different plans for you tonight,” he answered softly, sending a shiver down James’ spine. “Tonight I want to suck you dry. Tonight I want to grind against your lap until I’ve reduced your self-control to rubble. I want you to edge me until I can’t dance, until I can’t think, until I’m just begging you for release.” He drew away to look him in the eye, causing James to tighten his grip on his hair. “Think you’re up to the challenge, mister?”_

_James pulled at his hair until Charles gave a little moan of pain. He covered the younger man’s lips with his own and relished the delicious little noises that he made against his tongue. Charles clung to James’ tie and pulled clumsily. “I will undress you right here if you’re not careful,” Charles panted, drawing away for a moment. James ignored the threat and turned his relentless attention to Charles’ neck, steadfastly sucking a mark into his fair skin. Charles gasped. “A room, Richard, please,” he pleaded, hips jerking. He let out a guttural noise when James closed his teeth over the reddened skin of his neck and bit hard._

_“What if I take you here?” he growled into Charles’ ear. “Push you to your knees between my legs and take you with your other patrons watching, hmm? Would you like that, you little tease?”_

_“Oh, Richard,” Charles gasped, closing his eyes at the image. “That’d be a sight to see, but can we please get a room already? I’ve never wanted to get your cock in my mouth so badly. Please, can we?”_

_James smirked and pulled away. He stood quickly and reached out to pull Charles to his feet. The younger man obeyed, a small smile twisting his lips._

_“Lead the way, darling,” James said._

_~_

_“I rather missed you,” Charles murmured much later, when they were done rutting against each other in one of the club’s private rooms. The younger man was a warm weight sprawled on top of James, his breathing still rapid with the aftershocks of desire. “I’m glad you’re back,” the boy went on, resting his ear against James’ heart. “Do you really travel a lot, as a hedge fund analyst?”_

_James was well aware that whores were masters of small talk, but there was something unexpectedly genuine about Charles.  He carded a hand through the young man’s hair and smiled. “The job sometimes requires it,” he lied. “E-mail can only get you so far, especially when dealing with these gigantic multinational clients.” He touched Charles’ cheek and tilted his head up. “How’s your art history degree coming along?” he asked._

_Charles shrugged. “Well enough,” he answered shortly. “I’ll be working on my thesis soon. I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to it.”_

_“Art history,” James murmured. “I hope you know that the arts won’t provide you with the most foolproof way to earn a living,” he cautioned, wondering if the statement would irk the boy._

_Charles shrugged again and gave a small laugh. “That should please you,” he teased. “That means I’ll be on the stage and in your bed longer, right?”_

_James saw the deflection for what it was. He decided to pry one last time before letting the matter drop. “The thought does hold a certain appeal,” he admitted. “But the big bad world is biased against art, Charles. This is a society that starves artists.”_

_Charles smiled at him. “Where’s this sudden profundity coming from?” he asked, cupping James’ face with his hands. “If you’re so worried that I’ll starve to death, then perhaps you should feed me next time, Richard.” James saw a mischievous edge creep into his smile as his voice dropped an octave lower. “Take me to a nice hotel and order room service. I’ll be on my knees and you can hand-feed me.  Then you can fuck me to within an inch of my life for dessert.” His smile had turned into a feral grin, and James felt his cock stir at the words. Charles looked down between their bodies and looked immensely pleased at the reaction he had elicited. “Another round, Richard?” he asked, his face deceptively guileless._

_James dragged him into a kiss. “Another round it is,” he answered, and surrendered._

=

The first part of the mission, Q explained, was ridiculously easy. Infiltrating a dinner party filled with high-net worth money launderers was supposed to be too simple for an agent of his caliber, but the mission was too sensitive to be entrusted to anybody else. The attendees were suspected of funding and profiting from secessionist movements in oil-rich territories, and the situation had to be deffused before it turned into a full-blown diplomatic nightmare.

Q never stopped typing as he spoke. He showed James the pictures and profiles of people to watch out for—a magnate previously identified with the blood diamond fiasco, a matriarch who had poured a million pounds into vulture funds, a young heiress whose image as a frivolous socialite effectively masked her illicit ventures. James focused on these critical little details and steadfastly did not think of how young— _vulnerable_ , a stubborn part of his brain chimed—Q looked in a dark blue jumper more suited in a university campus instead of the hallowed halls of MI6.

“You’ll need a bug to catch these prey in the wild,” Q said. He paused in his typing long enough to open a drawer. He took out a glass case which held a plain silver tie clip and handed it to James, looking immensely self-satisfied.

James took it and eyed the clip critically. “Nice accessory, Q. Are you a jeweler now?”

Q smirked. “That little beauty is equipped with a micro fiber-optic camera small enough to go undetected by the most sophisticated bug scanners,” he said. He took the case from James and opened it carefully, then held the tie pin up to the light almost reverently. “It doesn’t record any audio, but it can broadcast your footage back to base in as good as real time. Smart little baby,” Q crooned, sounding for all the world like a father smitten with his firstborn child. Then he snapped back to attention and pinned James with a sharp glare. “This is a prototype, 007. Do endeavor not to lose it, or cause it to be damaged beyond repair.”

“I’ll try my hardest, Q,” James answered blandly. Q looked at him dubiously and handed him a nondescript white envelope. “Recommendation, tickets, and passport,” Q said. “Your name is David Fisher and you leave for Bermuda in three days. You are a representative of Empire Funds, so you should review your arsenal of financial lexicon, 007.” Q paused thoughtfully. “I believe financial jargon should be the least of your concerns, 007. Your history as a hedge fund analyst should help you in that regard.” Then he gave James a small, knowing smile. “Any questions?”

James was not about to let such an opening go unexploited. “Just one, Q” James answered as he approached Q with an unreadable expression.  “How did an art student become the quartermaster, Charles?”

Q just looked at him levelly. “I can ask you the same thing, Richard,” he answered, completely unfazed. “How did an equity analyst turn into a deadly Double O?”

“You’ve read my dossier, Q. I’m sure you already know the answer to that,” James said, standing close enough that he could see the tiny mole on Q’s upper lip. “You, on the other hand, have made quite an impressive leap.”

Q reached out to touch James’ tie, the small smile never leaving his face. “Not just an art student, 007,” Q murmured, hooking his left hand around the knot of the tie. He leaned in close enough that James could feel his breath against his cheek. “A computer science major with a double degree in art history.” Here his right index finger very slowly traced the contours of James’ jaw, his skin impossibly soft against the rough stubble.  “A Master’s in electrical and computer engineering from Carnegie Mellon in Silicon Valley,” Q flattened his other hand down the length of James’ tie, all the way to where it disappeared into his jacket. “And a doctorate in engineering systems with particular focus on critical infrastructures from MIT.” His finger had reached James’ lips, a kiss at one remove. “That’s who the quartermaster is, James,” he breathed, sending a jolt of desire down James’ groin.

James was just about to speak when Q abruptly stepped back. “That should be all for tonight, 007,” he said, again the perfect professional if not for the faint blush that had risen in his cheeks.  

James straightened his tie and pocketed the envelope. “Still a tease, aren’t you, Charles?” he asked.

Q smiled. “Some things never change, Richard,” he replied. Then he turned back to his computer. “Good night, 007. Please return the equipment in one piece.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait! I hope the chapter's length makes up for the delay, but real life does get in the way of things.
> 
> I'm finally getting on a bit of a proper plot here. Gone is the effortless writing of the first chapter!
> 
> I love hearing your feedback, so do leave a comment below if you feel like it. :) I promise they will fuck soon.

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me so easily. The title was appropriated from this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5Or6-HOveg) by Stars. I do hope you like it and send me your feedback! (:


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